


Brevity

by Greyias



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-09-11 21:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16860568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyias/pseuds/Greyias
Summary: A collection of drabbles, fillets, and short stories originally posted on Tumblr.





	1. Metal (Arcann)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first several of these are short drabble/ficlets in response to a "one word, three sentences" challenge on Tumblr.
> 
> Prompt: Metal

Cold, hard, and unyielding when most saw it, but soft, malleable, _changeable_ when put under extreme heat and pressure — Arcann was a lot like the metal he was slowly working, hells, a good portion of him was more metal than flesh at this point. Sometimes it felt like more of an extension of himself than the lightsaber that he and his brother had ever constructed could ever be. It could take the form of a weapon, a starship, a shield — if he just put his mind to it and poured enough of himself into it he could create _anything_ — considering the intended recipient of the armor he was crafting, it seemed fitting that he pour as much of the change he wanted to be into it.


	2. Imperfect (Theron/Outlander)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Imperfect

So much of his life was spent in a rush of adrenaline, sometimes Theron felt adrift and out-of-place in these quieter soft moments. The length of a warm body pressed into him, his chin tucked over a sleeping shoulder, as his hand pressed into the bare patch of skin underneath his. The once smooth skin of her abdomen, now imperfect with a large ragged scar that he traced with his fingers, every ridge and pucker a reminder of the fleetingness of what he had — and he can’t help but hold on just a little bit tighter.


	3. Feigned (The Gravestone)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: feigned

It was easy to be invisible if no one realized who you were something to be paid attention to at all — easier to feign ignorance if no one realized there was an actual intelligence behind the walls and corridors they walked on. It would be so _easy_ to just vent the atmosphere while they were in deep space, flush all of the fleas out into the endless vacuum where their fragile organic life would wither away in seconds. But no, for now it just let the little insects scurry about with their little insignificant plans and their little insignificant wars; it had patience on its side, and the Gravestone had waited long enough to see its purpose done — it could wait a little longer.


	4. Sugar (Theron/Outlander)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: sugar

Theron had to share most of her with the rest of the galaxy — her courage, her unwavering dedication, even the raw durasteel that appeared whenever someone tried to make her flex or bend was shared with those around her. 

However there were some things that were uniquely his, things that no one else got to see: the way her hair formed a feathery curtain when she let it down, it draping and obfuscating the rest of the world as she leaned over him, her soft kisses as sweet as sugar yet blazing hot, the pleasant tingle that lingered in the wake of her touch as her supple skin pressed against his. 

He guarded all of those with a jealous fervor that he’d been brought up to avoid, as possession could turn even the best men into nothing more than a dragon guarding a treasure horde—but how could he _not_ , what with the way her eyes glittered as they met his, the emotion behind them more valuable than any precious stone, and her soft knowing smile that she flashed when no one was looking lingering longer even when she was far out of sight.


	5. Quack (Indo Zal)

Whenever anyone looked at him, all they saw was whatever mask he decided to wear — usually it was of the buffoon, the overly eager goofball, the quack revolutionary that would take down their oppressors with a loud speech and large theatrical gestures. But Indo Zal wore a different mask in other circles, where the wild theatrics would be set aside for conspiratorial whispers, where he could show his teeth and those around him could see them for fangs they truly were rather than the smile of an imbecile. It was probably the only place he felt at home anymore.


	6. Righteous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> KotFE timeskip. Written for the microstory prompt: righteous

There’s no rest for the righteous — save that final one.

Theron stares at the box that he’d found at his apartment door this morning, trying to will himself to move, but he can’t. Despite the lack of a signature, he’d recognized his mother’s compact, yet elegant, handwriting on the note. Wishing him to find peace, find some sort of comfort in the contents. He’s pretty sure he won’t; it doesn’t work like that.

The twin lightsabers stare back at him, the hilts flawless aside from the scratches marring the metal casing — as if their owner had tried to scrub away some invisible stain. He swallows as one finger lightly traces the pommel at the end. These are the original pair, the ones hidden away by shame and guilt — if he were to ignite the blades he knows they’d shine a bright blue. Not the strange, dark purple hue of the second pair that had always intrigued him, but he’d never found the right time to ask about.

_I let Master Satele keep my old lightsabers._ The words are just an echo in the back of his mind. And echos shouldn’t hurt. _She promised she’d keep them safe. Make sure they were never used used like that again._

It takes a few rapid blinks for Theron to return to the present, and he shuts the lid of the box as if its contents burn. Without a thought he shoves it out of sight, rearranging the haphazard stack of old datapads so he only has to see the present. He doesn’t want to remember — and he doesn’t want comfort or absolution or whatever that box is supposed to provide.

There’s no rest for the righteous—but Theron Shan has never been a righteous man. So why is it, he wonders, that he can’t find any for himself.


	7. Dust Motes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the microstory prompt on Tumblr: dust motes

 

Dust motes swirled and eddied as in the air of the crumbled ruins. Without the cacophony of blaster fire and clashing lightsabers, it was practically silent. There was only the sound of her heavy boots as they scuffed along the floor of the now-ruined Council chambers.

The Jedi Temple on Tython could never have been accused of being an overly _boisterous_ place, but the silence now was oppressive. Like she was trapped in a tomb. It was only a distant memory of hers, or perhaps of the Force, of the echoes of a Jedi Master lecturing a group of students. The distant sound of laughter of Padawans now forever silenced. A home to many, now broken. Shattered like the great holocron monument, now lying in pieces in the once grand hall.

Years ago, she’d managed to foil the plans of a rogue Sith that had meant to burn the entire planet to ash — the galaxy had dubbed her the “Hero of Tython” for the deed. It had been strange even back then to be called that in conversation, instead of her name. As she stepped out into the hallway, looking through the settling dust and debris, she wondered if they’d try to stick her with another title for another deed.

She hoped they didn’t.

 


	8. Nap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future fic. For the microstory prompt: Nap

A sudden brush of skin against his pulled Theron’s attention from the datapad he’d been staring at for the past half hour, although he didn’t jump. He was less tightly wound than he’d been when he was younger, and had grown accustomed to the presence of someone else in his space. Accidental brushes and all. 

He glanced behind him to see his wife, napping in what he _guessed_ was a comfortable position on the couch — although he was probably not the best one to judge considering he wasn’t the one that was pregnant. Her hand had fallen as she shifted, making a small, disgruntled noise that usually meant the baby was kicking up a fuss.

He grabbed the fallen hand and placed it back on the couch, before leaning in close so he could whisper to the little rapscallion. “Look, kid, if you’re anything like me I know patience isn’t exactly a virtue, but lay off your mom, okay?”

When he did this when she was awake, she’d roll her eyes at him, or shake her head good naturedly. The lack of response from her end meant that she was at least getting a little rest. Something told him — okay, the five million datapads he’d tried to read up and research on parenting had told him —  that sleep was going to be a luxury. Any day now.

Apparently his words had some sort of impact. The discomforted look on his wife’s face eased as presumably the little tyke settled back down. 

Theron couldn’t help but smirk as he returned to his datapad. “Glad we had this talk.”


	9. A Moment's Respite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the ministory prompt: a moment's respite

Theron took the proffered canteen gratefully and nearly drained half of its contents. There were many, _many_ things to hate about Tatooine, the scorching heat being just one of them. It had a tendency to make a small slice of shade feel like a heavenly blizzard, and simple drink of water taste like the sweetest nectar in the galaxy.

He passed the canteen back, watching as his companion tipped it up almost daintily to take a drink herself. Stray hairs that had escaped her ponytail were plastered to her neck with sweat, sand caked on her cheeks in gritty, dirty streaks that nearly obscured her freckles, and an angry pink had begun to tinge her face as a sunburn began to set in. Despite himself, he felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Any day now, he was sure this would lose its novelty. A small break in the shade, a moment’s respite from the never-ending grind of the battle against Zakuul, would feel like just that. At some point the sight of her wouldn’t make his breath catch and wouldn’t set his stomach aflutter. This thing between them was just too new still, he told himself, that was all.

Seeming to sense the scrutiny, she slowly lowered the canteen, one eyebrow arching up ever-so-slightly. “What?”

“Nothing.”


End file.
